Stomach the Despair
by SnarklestheCat
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi pushed away the only woman who cared for him. Depression starts to set in, because even Jedi can't live without love. A concerned Anakin reaches out for help, but some wounds might be too deep to fix. Not slash. Please read and review!


AN: This is an r. doc for this fic, and it will definitely change because this isn't the full chapter. But it captures the essential fluff and h/c and romance for you.

Songs of Love

"This is . . . well . . . you know what this is," Anakin said, waving a hand at the door, which slid silently back at his Force command.

There was silence.

Anakin was obviously uncomfortable speaking or telling me anything more, but I was – despite all that had happened, despite all the awkwardness, despite all the pain – still eager to see him, and so I spoke because I couldn't wait any longer. It had been over a month, and although things would be different, and awkward, I could not ignore Anakin's plea . . . or my own yearning.

I peered into the room. It was dark, almost completely so.

For the first time, I felt a pang of fear. _This is not like him. At all. He hated being in the dark if he could help it. . ._

"Where is he?"

I stepped into the room, surprised that he hadn't come out to confront us. My unease grew. Whenever I had come to try and surprise him, he had always greeted me with a smile and sometimes even surprised _me_, demonstrating his ability to always sense who was at his door.

"I wouldn't – " Anakin began, reaching towards me.

Fear blossomed in my chest, multiplying to proportions I hadn't felt since the Clone Wars.

Something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

I whirled on Anakin. "What's happened to him?" I spat. I wasn't angry _at_ him – well, maybe I was a tiny little bit for not getting me earlier if something was so clearly wrong with him – but my worry overrode it for now.

Anakin spread his hands, and my fear multiplied even more when I realized it was in resignation and helplessness instead of surrender.

"After you left, he . . . well . . . he never quite got used to . . . not having you around," he began reluctantly. "I've never seen him react like that before. He just . . . faded. He'd answer questions, he'd teach, he'd spar, he'd debate – but there was this . . . emptiness in him. His voice was flat, his eyes were blank, his presence was . . . dimmed. In every way. No one could understand. And there wasn't a day when he wasn't . . . crying . . . himself to sleep, almost. I – "

"He _never_ cries," I protested. "Never."

Anakin fixed me with cool blue eyes. "Yeah, well, he's never done a lot of things," he said quietly, and those words made dread rise with the fear.

"Like . . ."

He sighed. "Drugs. Alcohol. Binging."

Each word cut at my heart like an ice dagger. I felt like I was floundering in a sea of hazy pain. He couldn't have done this. Not him. Not my . . .

"Where is he?" My voice was sharper than it had ever been.

Anakin gestured, and at the end of dimly-light corridor, I could barely make out the outline of door sliding open. I did hear the awful shriek as it skidded along its trail, though, and I shuddered. He never let anything fall into disrepair. . .

"Go," Anakin murmured.

That was like my permission.

I ran down the corridor, only to realize my mistake when I tumbled into crates stacked haphazardly against the wall. Crates and crates of empty bottles, some smashed into shards others thrown away casually.

My heart twisted. I hadn't wanted to believe Anakin, but here was irrefutable evidence.

And this was true, the rest must be also.

_Oh, by all the stars. . ._

With each step, my conviction was rising as strongly as my fear, disgust, and dread.

_I should not have left him. No matter what he said._

_I should not have._

Finally, I reached the door. It was even darker, and dirtier, and the room was concentrated with that awful odor.

I opened my mouth, but his name wouldn't come. I could already feel the trembles starting.

I reached for the light switch and flicked it on instead.

A figure stirred in the middle of the room, on the untidy bed. He was surrounded by empty bottles, half-opened containers, and rotting food – that would explain the smell. His hair was unkempt, his eyes blood-shot, his body dirty and bulging, fighting to break free of the rumpled and dirty tunics that contained his stomach.

And he was only a shadow of the man I had once known, trusted, _loved_.

His eyes widened when he saw me, and he tried to stand. But he couldn't; his legs were thin and spindly, unused to supporting his newfound weight, and he fell back on to the bed.

Without thinking, I ran to his side.

Finally, his name came.

"Obi-Wan."

It was a choked whisper, but somehow he understood.

He shuddered as though I had slapped him simply by saying his name and standing at his side, and when his eyes met mine I could read the self-disgust easily. He hated himself. He hated what he had become, what he had done, he hated _himself_.

The fear crawled up my spine again.

Obi-Wan was the strongest person I had ever known. If he could fall so far. . .

"Elanor." My name was just as much a choked whisper, and his tone was an anguished as his eyes. "I . . . I'm sorry. I can't . . ."

I let his arms surround me, burying my face in his neck as I had always done, trusting my safety to him and relying on his presence to steady me. This was too much for words – for the both of us. Sometimes even the Negotiator couldn't negotiate some things, and apparently this was one of them.

As I lay there at his side, the tears came without any hindrance with the realization that I barely recognized Obi-Wan. The dirt obscured his distinct copper-colored hair; the anguish, the tears, and the drugs blurred the blue-green eyes I had always loved; and the fat swallowed whatever muscle and tone had ever marked him as a Jedi. I barely recognized him, and that shook me to my core.

Obi-Wan stiffened suddenly, and seconds later I felt him go limp.

"Obi-Wan?"

I sat up, alarmed.

His eyes were open and glazed, and some of his muscles were trembling. His mouth was tightly shut, but there was clear tension.

_The drugs._

"Elanor."

I turned to find Anakin at the door. His face was tear-streaked as well as he gazed at the man he had loved as his Master, his brother, and his only father-figure.

"Anakin." I stood. "I need your help. . . Or rather, Obi-Wan does."

He nodded.

"Why did you come back?"

I sighed, and I felt his hand still where it rested against my back. It was a serious question, then. I tried to ignore that, choosing instead to stare out the window, where the lights of Coruscant made a dancing light show on the wall.

"I . . . Anakin found me," I mumbled. "He said . . . that you had changed your mind. And that something was wrong. I couldn't . . . I thought I had gotten over it. But I hadn't. I'm sorry if – "

"No."

I turned, startled by the strength in that word.

Anakin and I had managed to get Obi-Wan into the refresher, and then Anakin had called the healers to help me bathe Obi-Wan and clean his wounds, body, and mind. It had been a long task, but not as arduous as cleaning out Obi-Wan's apartment. Night had fallen before everything was clean again, and looking kind of like it had when I had left, and a few hours more had passed before Obi-Wan had finally awoken and realized that we had cleared his system of all the drugs and the alcohol. We hadn't been able to do anything about the fat belly, though.

But at least my Obi-Wan was recognizable now.

His blue-green eyes were at once clear and impassioned; I could easily recognize the gaze. And his hair was trimmed and washed again, glowing softly under the light. He was my Obi-Wan again, albeit with a pot-belly.

"No?" I repeated.

He shook his head. "How can you . . . How can you even _begin_ to think it is your fault, Elanor? _I_ drove you away. . . _I_ did . . . this. If there's anyone to be at fault, or apologize, it is me, and I must beg your for– "

I covered his mouth. "None of that," I protested. "We're both at fault. Okay, maybe you shouldn't have done . . . this . . . but I shouldn't have walked away from you."

"I told you to."

"And when have I ever listened to you?"

Obi-Wan sighed, and I could almost feel the room's temperature plunging as he withdrew from me. His eyes grew dull again, and sad, and it hurt.

"You should leave me again," he said almost tonelessly, looking at the wall. "It would be in your rights. I'm not anything you want anymore – I'm addicted, I'm weak, I'm _fat_. . . I'm not the Obi-Wan Kenobi you remember, or want. You should . . . leave . . . Elanor. Please. There is nothing here to hold you back."

I sat back on my haunches, stunned.

Then I laughed.

Obi-Wan's eyes flashed to me, confusion in the usually clear blue-green depths. "What?"

"You."

"What about me?" he asked warily, but with a plaintive tone.

"You really think I'd leave you again?"

Obi-Wan winced. "I wouldn't do this again. It doesn't help me," he admitted with a sigh. "It only made the pain of losing you worse."

I folded my arms across my chest. "Considering that, why would I leave you again if you need me so much?"

"Because I can't give you anything back. I mean, look at me!" He poked at his belly; it wobbled alarmingly, obviously nothing more than fat built up from his binging and gorging here in the dark and loneliness. "That's – "

I covered his hand. "Stop abusing your poor belly," I scolded. "And that's _nothing_. You seem to be missing the main part of my argument, Obi-Wan."

"Which is . . ."

I took a deep breath. "Obi-Wan, I . . . well . . . I did lie to you, you know. I didn't just come back for you."

Obi-Wan's eyes dimmed further, and his smile was tinged with pain. Very slowly, he removed his hand from underneath my own. I could almost _feel_ him withdrawing from the closeness that had been between us. He even physically shifted away, pot-belly rumbling and all.

"If there is someone else, I understand."

I laughed.

"Silly Jedi. You misunderstand again," I teased.

His brow furrowed. "What?"

I let my arms fall to my sides. This wasn't the time for defensiveness, especially against a Master of defense – even though it would take some time before he was ready to showcase that mastery in a duel.

"I didn't come back just for you because . . . because I also came back for _me_. You didn't realize how much you needed me. I didn't realize how much _I_ needed _you_ either. . . So . . . I . . . yeah . . . um . . . well, that's it," I finished quite lamely, looking at my hands, the bed, the wall, and anywhere _but_ him.

Suddenly, I felt his fingers brush my chin.

"Elanor. Elanor, look at me."

Reluctantly, I did so.

His eyes were open again, but this time the gentle affection was as clear as his withdrawal had been moments again. I could feel the connection between us again, and it made warmth surge through my body.

"I love you too, you know," he whispered.

And then I kissed him, mangling my own reply, but since he drew my closer and deepened the kiss I guessed that he had understood.

When we broke the kiss for air, he kept his arms tightly around me, and I didn't protest. But . . .

"We should really get some sleep," I said tentatively.

Obi-Wan sighed, and his grip around me slackened. "Yes, you're right," he said in a rueful tone. "Good night."

I stared at him, confused. "What are you doing?"

He hesitated. "But . . . I'm so fat . . . Why would you want to sleep in the same bed as me?"

I glared at him. "Obi-Wan Kenobi, where _else_ would I sleep?"

He surrendered, reluctantly but with good grace, and when I woke the next morning, curled against his body with his arms protecting me and feeling secure, happy, and comfortable for the first time in the whole affair, I had to admit that I wasn't as eager as I had been before about getting rid of that pot-belly. It was really was comfortable.

Besides, Obi-Wan's horrified expression when I told him was definitely worth it.

4


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